


turn around and walk away

by insonder



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: 8bar, Alternate Universe - Idols, Disbandment, Idols, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insonder/pseuds/insonder
Summary: That’s when Minghao spots the blocky Chinese characters printed in a thin booklet which he definitely does not remember seeing before.
Relationships: Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33
Collections: Challenge 2: Betrayal





	turn around and walk away

Jun finishes his second glass in ten seconds flat again.

Minghao doesn’t say anything, takes in the way his eyes reflect the light from the lavender-scented candles and fairy lights brighter than usual, and moves to refill his glass.

It says a lot about how stressful the past few days have been for them when Minghao entertains the idea of ditching his own glass for the bottle, even though he dislikes getting drunk. He sips and leans back, the taste lingering like an afterthought and wonders if Jun is thinking about the same things he is. If he too, like Minghao, looks at the future and sees uncertainty of a scale he’s forgotten how to work through.

Jun is quiet. He smiles at Minghao as if he’s looking into a lens, squints at the stack of papers on the bed, lets the red wine stain his shirt and cloud his senses. Leans into Minghao, presses himself into his side; a warm wall of comfort and familiarity.

“... this was going to happen one day, wasn’t it?”

Jun hums. There’s a soft _clink_ of glass hitting wood, and then Jun stretches one arm around Minghao. They both slump into each other, playing cards propped precariously into a tower before the faintest gust of wind knocks them over.

“We don’t know anything yet, Hao.” His speech is slow and subdued, flattening the syllables in a way he used to what feels like a lifetime ago.

Minghao doesn’t say anything for a while and then says, “Groups as big as ours-” he swallows what he thinks must be wine bubbling in his throat, and continues, “- it’s a wonder that we’re still together.”

“Mmm, is it _really_?”

Jun turns to face him, pointy chin digging painfully into his shoulder, hooded eyes peering into his own. Minghao looks away with a sigh. 

“They’ll be gone soon. We knew this was going to have to happen. It’ll be _years_ before the next time it’s all of us, Jun. If an _us_ survives this.”

Something cold and ugly drag its nails over Minghao’s skin and he shivers a little. 

" Other groups made it through, though."

"Many groups didn't."

Jun shifts, twists and curls like a blackened tree, and lays down with his head on Minghao’s lap. Minghao sinks his fingers into Jun’s hair with an absent mind. Is this one of the last times he’ll have one of his members draped all over him?

  
  


Has the countdown started? 

He keeps lying to himself, saying that he’ll support the members’ and the company’s decision, no matter what the decision is, that they’ll all be okay. Hoping that if he says it enough times, it will become true. But all it does is change in the way words do when repeated over and over; it holds none of the acceptance he wants them to, holds all the bitterness and fear he tries to push away.

“Haoo~” Jun murmurs, half- asleep, “it’s already raining outside, please don’t make it rain on me.” He reaches up with sweater paws and wipes, then snuggles into Minghao even more.

“Jun, you should go sleep in your room.”

“Hmmm,” Jun sits up and puts his arms around Minghao again, rubs his cheek against his like an affectionate cat, “ _no,_ I should not. You,” he pokes his cheek, “are making it rain _,” poke_ , “and I have to make sure you,” _poke_ , “don’t drown.” _poke_.

Minghao lowers his head and feels his facial muscles stretch his lips into something which looks like a smile but isn’t. One of the candles flicker and burn out, and they sit there huddled together in the dim light.

When a cold breeze blows two more candles out, Jun twists back and reaches for the comforter. His hand is more than a little unsteady and he ends up pushing the pile of papers all over the floor. Minghao looks at him like he’s singing opera at two in the morning. Jun groans and rubs his nape, and they both move to gather the sheets covering the floor.

That’s when Minghao spots the blocky Chinese characters printed in a thin booklet which he definitely does not remember seeing before. 

He flips through the pages, then turns to the first page and skims through. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting- legal jargon, maybe- but something sharp and sick curls in his chest and crawls up his spine and into his brain, his heart performs flips even he can’t do when he realises what he’s holding. His mind is a broken phone with the image of a romantic scene encoded in neat printing stuck on the screen.

“Are you going to say yes?”

Jun starts so violently that he scatters the paper he’s gathered in his hand all over the floor again. 

Jun. The way he casually does stupid things Minghao cannot even imagine how he comes up with them. The little imitations which are second nature to him. All the times he shows up whenever he needs him as if he has an internal compass attuned to Minghao. How they shouldn’t be as close as they are but they’ve gone through so much together that all the jagged edges fit into each other instead of grating painfully. All his passion, warmth, loyalty, and a thousand other things for which there is no name. Jun, one of the few, and easily the most precious, pieces of home he has in a foreign country full of round syllables and traditions he’s a stranger to. 

“... will you hate me if I say I don’t know?” Jun answers in a voice that isn’t breaking as much as it is already broken.

Something clears for Minghao; Jun didn’t come here for him. For once, he’d come to Minghao for _himself_. 

Still, as Minghao rubs Jun’s back and feels his shirt wetting and clinging to his skin, he wonders what the name of the knife slicing his insides to pieces and the flame licking his chest is.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to writing, so I feel like I should clarify my take on the theme since I'm not articulate enough to put words to the emotions I was trying to invoke ":). This was me trying to explore the betrayal you feel when someone you're close to makes a decision that puts distance between you and them, even though the decision they make promises better things for them. Even though it may be better for both of you in the long run, it still feels like they're choosing something else over you. I hope this clears things up a little :)


End file.
